Oh! Donuts!
by Tuesday Mourning
Summary: A lovely song Vash wrote, performed in a bar. It sounds like Violent Femmes meets Adam Sandler. Only weirder. There is no real plot to this story.


(The crowd looked at the strange man on stage with a skeptical eye. Some coughed, others puffed smoke from cigars or cigarettes. Nicholas D. Wolfwood just looked at the man and shook his head. "This aughta be good."  
  
The tall, red-coated man with the blond, broom-like hair cleared his throat and adjusted the mike. It made a high-pitched squeal, which made him recoil. The guitar he wore around his neck bumped the stand, causing the microphone to teeter. It would have fallen, had the man not caught it. The crowd scoffed. The man chuckled nervously, sat on the stool behind him, and checked to see if his guitar was in tune. He cleared his throat again, this time much more audibly, making gross, hawking, phlegm-y noises, and then he spat a rather sizable loogie towards a brass spittoon. He missed, hitting the side of it.  
  
He ignored this, and leaned towards the microphone. "How is everybody tonight?" He said in a cheery tone, in attempt to lighten the mood. No response. A cough erupted from someone's throat. The man strummed his guitar. "I wrote a little love song." He said. "This is my first time performing it. Maybe you'll like it."  
  
He vigorously strummed out an up-beat tune, which sounded like it would have come from a Violent Femmes song. He leaned up to the microphone, and in as best a singing voice he could muster, he began to sing in a low, soft voice.)  
  
"I . . . walk by and stare, And see . . . you sitting there, So perfect and so lovely and so nice.  
  
I lo-ook, to see if the notice, And walk up to the hostess, Ask if I could see you without thinking twice.  
  
So very nice."  
  
(The chords get louder. The man starts to sing in a louder, more normal pitch.)  
  
"Yeeeeaaaaaaah, Donut! Don't ever leave me! You think you can go on and tease me! I know you and I know that you know I love you!  
  
Oo-oo-oo."  
  
(The strumming goes back to its former softness. The crowd looks confused. The man sings softly again.)  
  
"She . . . tells me you're not for sale I feel as if I could just cry and wail I need you more than I could ever need air.  
  
She-ee, tells me to go away, That I could just come back another day, But I know that she's lying, how could she dare?  
  
I feel so bare . . ."  
  
(The music becomes louder again.)  
  
"Oh, Yes, Donut! You tried to deceive me! You tried to steal my Pokémon Eevee! That's okay, because I will love you anyway.  
  
Hey-hey-hey."  
  
(He starts to strum as if he's going back into the verse, but he goes into a small solo. The crowd timidly starts to clap along. The lyrics are ludicrous, they think, but the tune's pretty catchy. He strums back into the verse.)  
  
The dust . . . has finally cleared, I've turned into all that I've feared, A homicidal, donut-loving freak.  
  
The girl, at the counter, I just hope the police haven't found her, I've been on run for a about a year and week.  
  
You made me weak."  
  
(He goes back into the chorus.)  
  
"Ohhhhhh, Donut! Look what you did to me! I've regressed back into insanity! All because you lured me to you like a bell.  
  
Yeeeeeesssss, Donut! Don't you believe me? It was purely an accident, really! And now because of you my life is Hell.  
  
(He starts to shout at the top of his lungs, strumming harder now.)  
  
Nooooow, Donut! My life's full of misery! You went and you thought you could trick me, Well, it worked, and now I'm unhappy, But I still love you so dearly, And I can't shake this feeling inside of me, That tells me I should end my life, finally, But you'd never show that much mercy, If this is love, then I wish you would hate meeeeeeee!  
  
Donuuuuuuuut, yeah, donuuuuuuut, oh, donuuuuuuuuuuut, oh!"  
  
(He ended abruptly, and slumped over his guitar with a dramatic air. The crowd applauded him heartily, some whistling, others cheering. Tokens of appreciation were hurled at him, such as roses, money, and even a fish. "Thank you!" He said, standing up and bowing, holding the acoustic guitar in one hand.  
  
Wolfwood himself even clapped. Traveling with Vash was always interesting. And he was pleasantly surprised to see that he could play an instrument . . . though his song-writing skills could use some work.  
  
Vash bowed and waved, picking up roses, money, and the fish, and telling the audience how wonderful they were. He walked off the stage and joined Wolfwood at the bar.  
  
"How was I?" He asked.  
  
"Not bad." Wolfwood responded. "Not bad at all."  
  
"Aw, it was nothin'." Vash insisted. "I just did it hoping I'd get some drinks for free."  
  
The bartender came over with two mugs of beer for the pair of men. "Fresh brew on the house, for the eccentric singer and his friend." He announced heartily. "Enjoy."  
  
"Thanks." Said Vash. He guzzled the alcohol with gusto.  
  
Meryl and Milly sat in a corner, nearing choking on the thick smoke. Milly coughed and waved some of the smoke away from her face, her eyes red and watery. "Wow, ma'am, that Vash is a good singer, isn't he?" She coughed again.  
  
Meryl looked through the haze at Vash. "He's crazier than I thought."  
  
"Ah, yes." Said Milly in her usually perky tone. "But you know what they say about artists, what with them being crazy and all."  
  
"I believe it." Meryl remarked.  
  
The laughter of drunken men and their ballads to liquor echoed in the night sky.) 


End file.
